


Staring at the Sun

by rudbeckia



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Angst, Epistolary, Fluff, Kylux Titleception, Lesbian Phasma, M/M, POV Multiple, Period Typical Attitudes, Pining, lesbian unamo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-10-29 17:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: It’s 1952. WW2 is over but not forgotten, rationing has not yet ended, and the world is still not at peace.Kylo Ren, failed pilot, failed member of a religious order and son of a politician, has left the USA to avoid potentially embarrassing his mother with career-ending scandal. He aims to live quietly as the owner of a bookstore in a coastal village in Britain.Armitage Hux, the last Lord Arkanis, is a man who has responded to accusations surrounding his fascist father’s death by retreating to the last habitable room in the once-great Arkanis Manor, its library, and is well on the way to becoming a recluse.Over a shared love of literature and sunrise over the sea, despite misunderstandings and secrecy, they meet and tentatively find common ground.(Art by me. Be kind, I’m relatively new at it).





	Staring at the Sun

Dear Leia,

Thank you for the message and the money. It is easily enough to tide me over until I am settled into my new business because my room and board at The Black Knight is very reasonable. The hotel is really just rooms above a quaint old pub run by two local women. I think they might be sisters because they are very familiar with one another although they do not look at all alike. Miss Phasma is taller than me, pale and a natural blonde. Miss Unamo is dark haired and average height. They explained the rules to me very sharply so I think you would like them.

The few locals I have met aside from Miss Phasma and Miss Unamo have not been unfriendly, but are distant like you warned me the British could be. I get the impression that everyone who lives in this little seaside town was born here. So far I have only met Mr Mitaka, who is a jack-of-all-trades who helps out Miss Phasma with repairs and sometimes tends the bar, and old Mr Peavey who used to be a fisherman and regrets, at great length when he has an audience buying his beer for him, that his injuries keep him from the sea. Every time he is asked about his leg, he gives a different fanciful answer. Han would like him.

My new address is at the top of the page. For the sake of not being recognised because of the family name, I have introduced myself here under a pseudonym. So I will sign off for now and write again when I have any news worth sending across the ocean.

With warm regards,  
Kylo Ren

—oOo—

 

Dear Luke,

Thank you for understanding about my departure and not making my decision any more difficult. I am sorry that I cannot follow in your footsteps but a life in the service of a religion that holds no meaning for me is a life I would despise. I hope you understand that truly I tried to believe and wished with all my heart that faith in the Light of God would find me. I am just not made that way. Perhaps I have too much of the dark in me.

I can almost hear you telling me not to make jokes about such a serious matter. Well, Lucifer means light bringer, so... Ha! Are you unfocusing your eyes and murmuring a prayer for me already? Never fear, Brother Luke. I only have faith in myself.

The local vicar visited me to ask if I will attend services in the village chapel. He’s called Reverend Snoke, he is so old I fear he may crumble into dust behind his lectern, and his demeanor makes my blood run cold. I want to be as far from his presence as geography and economics permit. Have you heard of him? I do not like him at all and I would prefer to have a reason more justifiable than ‘he gives me the heebie-jeebies’. Perhaps you could discreetly ask around.

I can hear the dinner gong and if I am late there will only be boiled beetroot left again. Everything here is boiled or pickled except for the fish. You’d fit right in.

Kylo Ren

P.S. I changed my name.

—oOo—

 

Dear Ben,

Your mom told me you left Luke’s seminary to open a bookstore in a foreign country. She asked me to write since she’s off on some diplomatic trip and said she’d probably have a spy looking over her shoulder the whole time to see if she’s a commie. Give it another week before you write again and don’t say anything you wouldn’t want that mynock Mr Hoover to read.

I guess I support your decision to leave Luke’s line of work but you should come home and we’ll find you a real job in the business. You’re a pretty decent pilot when you keep your mind on the job.

In the meantime, I hope you know what you’re doing over there. I’ve heard the British can be pretty damn funny. Be careful.

Chewie says hi.

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,  
Dad

—oOo—

 

Dear Leia,

I have now been here for almost three weeks and I have made plenty of progress. My purchase of shop premises has almost completed and the lawyer said the previous owners of the building will allow me to send in Mr Mitaka and his ‘mate’ (a man called Thanisson whose boyish charms belie his age) to fix the roof and see to the plumbing and heating. It’s a pretty little place with a weathered limestone front and big bay windows that face the harbor so you can watch the fishing boats land their catch if the tides are right. Old Peavey is always out there to help where he can. I found out he lost a son and a brother in the War when their dreadnought was sunk, and when he’s had a few pints down at The Black Knight he says he wishes he’d been fit for service too so that he could have been with them at the end.

Is Han disappointed that I could not volunteer to join up to kill communists? Now I’m in a dark mood. I wish some tremendous power would take over the whole world and stop us all from killing each other. Luke would say that a benign dictator would rob us of free will and faith. But when we exercise our free will, do we do more good or more harm? Isn’t his God a benign dictator? (Perhaps a disinterested one since there is little evidence of His influence).

It turns out that Phasma and Unamo are not sisters at all. They are both single ladies who met in service with the “Wrens”—the Women’s Royal Naval Service. Phasma was in ordnance and Unamo worked in communications. They decided that since there were no eligible young men around to interest them in marriage after the war, they would set up in business together. It is not such an unusual arrangement, Phasma says. I suppose spinsters enjoy each other’s company.

You will love this: there is a Manor and the Manor has a Lord! Mitaka says Lord Arkanis is a recluse who never leaves his big, old drafty house. Mitaka has been there from time to time to fix whatever breaks down. He says the manor is cold and damp everywhere except the library, which Lord Arkanis keeps warm, dry and ventilated so that his books don’t get mildew. I have not met this mysterious lord yet. I picture a haughty, grey-headed, hollow-cheeked, twisted old stick, but I have respect for any man who tends his books with care.

Thank you for the extra money. Whatever remains after I refurbish the shop I will put towards tables and chairs and other items I would need to open a pavement cafe for the summer tourists. Unamo said she will help me on condition I only open when the bar is closed. She also said that a pavement cafe was ‘very French’ and the locals will think me eccentric. I have never been to France so I don’t know about that, but they already comment in amused wonder at my habit of taking a walk up to the cliffs to watch the sunrise before breakfast whenever I wake early enough.

With kinds regards,  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dearest Kylo,

I couldn’t wait for your next letter to arrive before writing again so I suppose your reply and mine will pass each other on separate cargo holds, sailing or soaring in opposite directions. Such is life. I am happy that you arrived safely and are getting settled.

Han told me he had written to you with a warning. Write to me care of Poe if you are concerned about anything you write getting twisted and thrown back at me in an attempt to shift my career from the Capitol to the kitchen. Han regrets some of what he said before you left and he does love you painfully, although you know how he can be. I was worried that you might not have enough to live on before your business gets going so I have wired your bank some more money. If you need more just say. Your grandfather left me some money and I don’t want to be associated with it so it may as well be yours.

Chewie says Han has picked up another couple of strays—some runaway kids who had the nerve to steal his old Falcon! They didn’t get far in it but Chewie was impressed that they got it airborne at all. The girl’s a good pilot for her age but that plane is still a heap of junk. Chewie likes her, says she doesn’t need coddling. Han’s not so keen on the young man. Says he lied about his past and he’s cocksure. Reminds me of someone.

Luke said Mass for you. I know you don’t care for that sort of thing any more, but he means well.

Take good care of yourself,  
All my love,  
Leia

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

I swear you will be the death of me. Look out for me in the hatches, matches and dispatches columns. ‘Middle-aged monk has heart attack upon receiving news from nephew’ or some nonsense like that.

No one here knows of your Reverend Snoke but if he trained at a foreign seminary then that is not at all surprising. You should put aside your misgivings and attend his chapel on Sundays whether you have faith or not. God hears and answers the prayers of lost souls like yours because He loves you unconditionally. A more pragmatic reason for going every Sunday morning is that many of the villagers will be there and it will help you get to know your new neighbors.

I discussed your departure with Father Yoda. His advice was a raised eyebrow and a shrug. I think that counts as his blessing upon you so I said Mass for you. Your mom and Amilyn came, which was nice.

You left your calligraphy set in your room. I gave it to your mom to send once she has put together a care package of all the things she thinks you might miss from home.

Love and prayers,  
Luke

—oOo—

 

Dear Leia,

~~Should I be this offended that Han replaced me so quickly? He never liked me and I hated working on the Falcon anyway. I hope that heap of junk blows itself out of the sky. I got so angry I~~

Sorry, that was a bad way to start but this is my last aerogram until the post office opens so I will write smaller and not waste the franked paper.

The shop is mine! I employed Mitaka and Thanisson to build shelves and my stock should begin to arrive soon. I ordered mainly classics with a few modern titles and I decided to have an American Fiction section. Maybe you can help me import some titles that are not available in Britain. Phasma agreed to recommend my bookstore to all the passing tourists if I recommend her bar and hotel in return. Unamo suggested that I host a ‘Grand Opening Gala’ and invite all the locals to come in and look around, bribed with a free glass of sherry (she said she’d provide a bottle or two as a gift and lend me some glasses from the bar) and buffet. I am not sure where I will get the means to provide a buffet table since my ration book does not make any allowances for entertaining. I will have to take a leaf from Uncle Luke’s book and trust that God will provide butter and sugar, since loaves and fishes we have in abundance.

Luke advised me to attend chapel on Sundays so I went this week. Reverend Snoke’s voice made my skin crawl but I shook hands with some of the villagers and introduced myself. It was some kind of memorial service for those souls lost at sea, but not a Mass that Luke would recognise. I got the impression that the village is in perpetual mourning. Between the joint toll of war and the fishing industry, there are few young men around and I found myself uncomfortably in demand with the parents of two young widows.

I think Unamo’s idea is a sound one. If you send me my calligraphy set by return (Luke mentioned it) I will write invitations myself and deliver them. I will even take one up to our reclusive Lord Arkanis.

I have so little space for my words today! It is beautiful here and I have taken to morning walks on the beach or the clifftops to see the sun rise pink and yellow over the steel grey sea. There is a strange little concrete building up there. It is squat and round and Phasma said it was a ‘pillbox’ whatever that is. Sometimes on my walks I catch a glimpse of another man staring at the rising sun, a willowy red-haired fellow who glances over but never waves back when I call out a good morning. The British can be so rude.

With warmest regards,  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Luke,

Thank you for remembering about my calligraphy set. Leia sent it on and since it arrived I have been writing invitation cards for the Grand Opening Gala of my bookstore.

I am settling into village life, and you will be pleased to hear that for once I took your advice. I have attended chapel three Sundays in a row and I am on cool but friendly terms with many of the parishioners. Reverend Snoke still disturbs me merely by his presence. He has invited me to afternoon tea at the vicarage but so far I have found excuses not to accept.

I barely believe I am contemplating writing these words: I seek your advice. Have you spoken with Leia? I told her a little about circumstances here in the hope that she would read between the lines, but this village is somewhat depleted of eligible bachelors and I find myself uncomfortably in demand with single ladies and parents eager to see their daughters settled with a man. There are two in particular, young war-widows with children, who seem to be at odds with one another on my account. How do I tell these parents and their perfectly nice daughters that I am not a piece of prime flesh on the marriage market? Should I lie and invent a wife at home (although I am not convinced that would put them off) or should I be blunt in my rejections and alienate potential customers for my bookstore?

I await your wisdom. Stop laughing, I swear I can hear your amusement at my predicament all the way across the ocean.

I have sometimes glimpsed a strange man, a flame-haired creature of ethereal beauty who seems to be crafted entirely from dawn fire since the only time I see him is at sunrise on the clifftops. When I call to him, he vanishes as if he’s an elemental being caught on Earth when he should be in the Otherworld. When the dawn light catches him, I swear he shines brighter than the sun, and I may go blind thinking about him. Perhaps angels do exist after all.

Yours in torment,  
Kylo

—oOo—

_Kylo catches sight of Hux, and the sunrise is forgotten._

—oOo—

 

You’re worrying your mother STOP Come home before you get yourself banged up for something illegal STOP Han

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

Please don’t be angry with Luke but he telephoned as soon as he received your letter.

I beg you to be diplomatic with these poor girls. There must be a way to let them down gently without the stress of maintaining a lie that could easily be unmasked by a determined meddler. Put on your best smile with your second-best suit next Sunday and tell them that you are sorry but you are not interested in marriage until your business is booming and you can afford to maintain a family. Buy a typewriter and say you are a writer who has yet to find a publisher. Better still, a poet! The parents of those young widows will lose interest when they see you as a starving artist who can’t put food on the table. That way you can hide in plain sight. And you need not lie: I always said you had a poetic soul.

Regarding the other matter: oh my baby please be careful. You know nothing of this stranger and maybe that is the source of most of your attraction. Careless thoughts are one thing, but careless actions can have dire consequences. Do nothing that will upset your new balance and sense of purpose.

I can’t believe you wrote to your hermit uncle for advice on dealing with women instead of coming to me. Was it to spare me the other thing? You needn’t hide it from me. Remember how you used to follow Poe around, making puppy eyes while receiving lessons on engine maintenance? He still thinks of you fondly.

With warmest wishes and all my love,  
Leia

—oOo—

 

Dear Leia,

I am embarrassed on behalf of my younger self. I thought I was being so subtle in my affections and here it turns out I was a laughing stock. Success in matters of the heart is not for such as me.

I took your advice. I told everyone that I am a writer with no income other than what I can make from the bookstore (when it opens) and things have cooled to the point where I am almost snubbed by the parents although the young women are still friendly enough in their way. I get the feeling that their parents’ meddling was a source of mutual embarrassment. No mother wants their daughter married off to a penniless poet and I am more sure than ever of from which parent I inherited my genius.

The Grand Opening Gala is in one week. I have delivered by hand invitations to every home within walking distance. Mitaka and Thanisson kindly delivered some to neighbouring villages when they took their van out on odd jobs, and Phasma has put up a poster in her hotel. I hope the weather holds. It is not Spring yet and it would be a shame for all that effort to go to waste if there is a late winter storm severe enough to keep people from venturing out.

I borrowed Phasma’s bicycle and took an invitation up to Lord Grizzle-Grump of Crumbling Manor. I expected a slightly run-down castle with battlements and a wide drive lined by rows of perfectly spaced trees and a butler to answer the door and look at me as if I ought to have used the tradesman’s entrance. You would not believe what this place is like! The “drive” was so overgrown I had to leave Phasma’s bike at the gate and wade through last season’s brown, knee deep grass and creeping thorn bushes sprouting in tussocks from mud. The manor house (not a castle) is enormous but one side of it is missing most of its roof and part of a wall, and I kept clear of the area around it where lumps of brick and chunks of limestone showed where the wall had collapsed. I could even see inside that once upon a time there had been a grand ballroom there with fancy wallpaper and a chandelier. There were no lights on and nobody answered when I rang the doorbell, then knocked hard. I slipped the invitation through the gap between the doors and left. I did look back, and I think I saw movement in a window, but it might have been nothing. A passing reflection from the sky. I had to get Phasma’s bicycle back to her before dark so I rode back admiring the orange sunset and wishing I’d wasted less time and effort on the invitation I wrote to crusty old Lord Arkanis since he will probably never see it. I asked Phasma about it when I got back to The Black Knight and she said a stray bomb fell nearby and destroyed the east wing. You’d think a fancy Lord So-and-so would have it demolished or rebuilt.

On the other matter, I have not seen the red-headed beauty recently but the weather has been poor and Peavey advised me to keep off the cliffs. Apparently there are occasional landslips where the limestone and chalk get eroded by storms and undercut by powerful waves. I asked Phasma if the redhead was a figment of my imagination, perhaps some kind of fairy, and she spoke to me rather rudely even for a British person. She said I should mind my own affairs and not pry into the lives of others! Am I missing something?

Please tell Han not to contact me again if he has nothing helpful to say.

With warm regards,  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

My sister is sometimes a better advisor than I am. Please forgive me for breaking your confidence, but I thought it necessary. If you hate me for a while, I accept my penance.

I spoke with Han at Leia’s request. I can’t say that my words had any more impact than usual but he cares for you a great deal and does not wish to see you get in trouble over a passing infatuation. Neither do I, for that matter, but I will say no more about it and trust to your good sense rather than risk your instinctive opposition to unwanted advice. Han thinks of your leaving as leaving him rather than leaving a situation that was intolerable to you. It pains Leia that there is a rift between the two most important men in her life. Perhaps when your heart has mended a little you will consider writing to him again?

With love and prayers,  
Luke

—oOo—

 

Dear Mr Ren,

What a surprise it was to find your beautifully written invitation card on the floor of my entry hall today. You may imagine that I was quite taken aback that a stranger in the village, a foreigner like yourself, would be so courteous. Dopheld has mentioned you from time to time when he comes to mend my generator or unblock flues or fix leaks, but all I know of Americans comes from novels and plays on the wireless so you must forgive my relative ignorance.

I regret that I am unlikely to attend your Grand Opening Gala. However, I am interested in obtaining an unexpurgated copy of an American novel, “The City and the Pillar” by Gore Vidal. It was published in 1948, by Lehmann I think. If you have no moral objection to the book’s reputation, perhaps you have it in stock or would be kind enough to obtain it for me.

Arkanis

—oOo—

 

Dear Leia,

Lord Arkanis wrote to me! Can you believe it? He placed an order for a book. Can you get a full copy of Gore Vidal, “The City and the Pillar” for me and post it as soon as possible? Send me an invoice for the price of it plus postage. My first customer is the local Lord!

Everything is ready for my grand opening. I had to do very little myself since Unamo and Phasma are experts and like to be allowed to do as they please without interference, so I deferred to their greater skill at organising social events. Mitaka, Thanisson and I have finished all the bookshelves and the store currently smells of varnish. Even old Peavey helped drag crates of books around, ready to unpack onto the shelves once the paint and varnish are fully dry. I have made calligraphy labels for all the different sections of my bookstore. When you enter, fiction is on the left starting with crime, and nonfiction is on the right, starting with travel guides. Romance is at the back close to books about recipes and crafts, and I put your favorite adventure genre in the middle, opposite history.

Actually, please send me two copies if you can and I will add one to my Modern American Literature shelf. Please tell Luke I’m not mad at him and say Hi to Chewie if you see him around.

With kind regards,  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Lord Arkanis,

Please excuse me if I addressed you incorrectly. I have no idea how this country works at all. I have placed an order with a reputable and reliable book merchant and your novel should come in a week or so. I took the decision to have it arrive as soon as possible and sending it by airmail rather than surface mail does increase the price somewhat. I hope that is acceptable.

I am sorry that you will not be able to attend the Grand Opening Gala. I am sure the presence of such a notable figure as yourself would be an attraction of its own, but I respect your privacy. Should you be in the village at all, you are most welcome to come in and browse my bookshelves.

Yours faithfully,  
Kylo Ren

—oOo—

 

Dear Leia,

Thank you for finding the novel and sending it so quickly. I will take it up to Lord Arkanis tomorrow if Phasma will lend me her bicycle again, or maybe Mitaka will deliver it when he is next up at the Manor since something is sure to break down and need his skills soon.

The Grand Opening Gala went well and I sold quite a few books. True Crime is very popular here, as are Nautical Adventures. Old Peavey said he didn’t read because one life contains enough drama as it is, but the sherry made him cheerful and Unamo kept his glass topped up. I gave him a slightly damaged copy of ‘The African Queen’ and he was persuaded to open it only because the film is showing at the nearest picture house and he admires Katherine Hepburn’s stern beauty. Phasma bought Unamo a book on conversational French and Unamo bought Phasma the Paris Baedeker. I wonder if they are planning a vacation? I could offer to look after The Black Knight for them for a few days. I still live there in my little room above the lounge bar, although the bookstore has a little living space up in the attic with a window that seems to open directly to the sky.

Lord Arkanis politely turned down my invitation to the gala, so I have yet to meet him in person. But I saw my ethereal angel again on an early clifftop walk on the first day that the weather was good enough not to threaten to blow me over into the sea below. He looked at me from a distance and this time when I waved, he raised his arm briefly before walking away. That was two days before the gala. At the event itself, I was sure I caught sight of him through the window, down by the harbour. It was deserted (the draw of free sherry and a look around the newcomer’s place was bigger than I had expected) and I saw a figure bundled up against the March wind in dark clothes, looking out to sea. There was a flash of red-gold hair as his cap blew off. He retrieved it and he turned and seemed to look right at me, and I waved through the window although he was surely too far away to see clearly and did not wave back. I felt my heart beat harder and my mouth dried up until Thanisson asked me to find him a Horatio Hornblower novel. C.S. Forester sure is popular here. You’d think the locals would want to escape the ever present sea and read of jungles and adventures in the desert instead.

When I looked out the window again, my fire-angel was gone.

The bookstore is quiet today, as I should expect until those who bought books finish them and want another. Perhaps I should introduce a second hand book shelf next month since the village has no library of its own.

With warm regards,  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Mr Ren,

Thanks you so much for kindly sending my new book up to the Manor with Dopheld. I sent him back with cash payment for you since he is a trustworthy soul.

Have you read this particular novel? I read so much yet there is no one near who shares my love of fiction. What better way to spend a dreary February afternoon in a damp and chilly house than by escaping into another world for a few hours?

I should like to order another novel for when I am finished this one. Perhaps you could recommend something if you are not too busy romancing the local womenfolk, who must surely be taking aim if you are fair game in the sport of marriage. You probably have a pretty wife at home, patiently waiting for your call to cross the ocean and join you.

Arkanis

—oOo—

 

Dear Lord Arkanis,

I will give some thought as to which title to recommend based on the Gore Vidal. Would your preference be for a work by the same author, or a work in a similar theme? I should own up to the fact that I have yet to read it and you possess the only copy I could lay my hands on.

Kylo Ren

—oOo—

 

Dear Mr Ren,

You are kind to go to the trouble but there is no need if my literary preference is not to your taste. Your landlady, Miss Phasma, has occasionally recommended to me novels that she and Miss Unamo enjoyed. I am sure if you consulted with them they would help you choose something from your existing collection that I can get my teeth into in the meantime.

Please forgive me for the closing comment in my previous note. It was rude of me to pry into your personal situation.

Arkanis

—oOo—

 

Dear Lord Arkanis,

I took no offence so forgiveness is not necessary. I do not have a wife waiting to join me and I have put off the women of the village by telling them that I am a penniless writer, dependent on my meagre income from the bookstore. The truth is that I am not the marrying kind at all.

Miss Phasma suggested that you might like the book I have sent with this note, ‘The Price of Salt’ by Claire Morgan. It is a new title and I trust her judgment on this matter since that is what you asked me to do.

Kylo Ren

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

What an excellent choice! Please convey my thanks to Miss Phasma for the recommendation. I devoured the entire volume in one day, barely moving from my fireside in the library, starting well before my morning coffee and finishing long after my nightcap. Have you read the novel? If you have, please tell me what you thought of Therese. I adore her. In case you have not, I am returning the book to you so that you can remedy this oversight directly.

I hope I am not too informal when I sign off as merely myself.  
Armitage

—oOo—

 

Dear Luke,

The bookstore is doing well enough now. Word has spread and I had a few customers from neighboring villages, and the headmistress of the village school came by to place a more substantial order for a range of children’s classics. I won’t see a profit for a while but I am no deeper in debt than I was a month ago. Lord Arkanis and I have been exchanging short letters and he asked me to recommend books I think he would enjoy, and he invited me to call him by his first name. I seem to have made a friend of an old man I will probably never meet.

***  
Can I indulge a fantasy for a page or so? If you do not wish to read of my matters of the heart, or find it distasteful, then throw this whole page away. But I can barely contain myself today. I want to run down to the harbor, climb the wall and shout for joy at the rising tide. Perhaps I will write and then slip this page from the envelope before I commit it to the dark pit of the postbox, and keep it for myself.

I went for my usual dawn stroll from The Black Knight to the path leading to the clifftop that looms above the little cove where the village, the harbor and my little bookshop nestle together. I hoped my red headed sprite would be there today since the night had sprinkled frost-sparkles over the ground but the clear sky promised some early Spring warmth. When I reached the top of the cliff, knuckles aching from the cold, the light had changed from pre-dawn grey to the first glimmers of true morning. I looked out over the sea to where the sky showed signs of yellow and pale orange sunlight, then happened to glance at a movement just at the edge of my vision. And he was there! It was as if he had shimmered into existence out of the air itself, and stood some distance further along the clifftop path, looking out to sea as I had been doing too.

My smile made my face ache and I had to hide it in case he saw and thought me too odd. I waited to see what he might do, but he merely returned my wave and watched the sunrise. The pillbox squatted between us and I strolled closer to it as if I intended to examine its crude structure. I felt him watch me move closer, wary perhaps, although I dared not look directly at him in case he vanished before my eyes. Once I reached the low, grey building, I stopped and leaned against it and watched the sun ease fully over the horizon and chase away the beautiful colors that clothed its arrival.

I may have sighed, then I jumped with alarm when a firm voice beside me said, “One should not stare directly at the sun. Such blinding beauty clouds the eyes to every lesser sight.”

I turned and stared at his face instead, blinking away the green afterimage of the insignificant sun. There he was, only a couple of feet away. I must have looked like a fool, grinning and gaping as if my command of language burned off under the heat of his gaze. The early rays tinged the hair that peeked out from under his cap with streaks of orange fire and I saw that he was around my age although his style of dress was older, or maybe just more formal. When he shifted his head up so that the light hit his eyes, they transformed from colorless gray to pale emerald. I saw that his pale jaw and hollow cheek was dusted with the scruff of reddish-blond stubble and I wanted to reach out and feel its roughness with my fingers, compare it with my own downy beard.

I may have allowed my arm to move, but he stood back and took my hand in a handshake. I managed to stammer out my new name, aware of the fragile bones in his hand through his fine leather gloves. He said he knew who I was. I got the feeling he was waiting for me to speak again but I couldn’t find any breath in my lungs. My heart hammered in my chest and I thought I might pass out. He smiled at me and I could have melted. He said I should call him Hux. I echoed his name like an idiot. He nodded and turned to leave, and only then did I break the spell of his stare and release his slender hand from my grip.

I wish I’d had the nerve to run after him, but then what?

How much trouble am I in, Brother Luke? Am I truly damned? If you pray for me, what would you ask your God for on my behalf?

***  
A fresh page. Isn’t that what we all desire?

Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Armitage,

It took me a little longer than it took you, for I read the book in snatches while the bookstore was quiet. I too adored Therese. Her indecision, her timid but resentful need to please others, and her growing sense of self made me love her like a sister. I was so happy at the ending and in my mind (I often craft epilogues in my own head) Therese and Carol set up home together and live happily ever after with little Rindy, and Harge is moved from the main text to a mere footnote in their lives.

If we are to be on first name terms and you know of my status in this regard, perhaps you will tell me if there has ever been a Lady Arkanis at the Manor?

Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

You have caught me off guard with a personal question! The last time someone with the title Lady Arkanis lived here was more than a decade ago. My stepmother and my father both passed away (her some years before before him) and bequeathed to me this crumbling mausoleum. I disappointed my father equally by having no inclination for marriage and for returning from my war more highly decorated than he ever was in his. In that way I shamed him twice before he died.

I have no heir so I am the last Lord Arkanis, and I am not sorry.

Armitage

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

I am glad the book I sent was the correct one and I hope his lordship paid top dollar for the personal service. I had to get Poe and his friends to search out a copy as it is a difficult title to get hold of in these difficult times. I worried that the package would be opened by customs and the book confiscated on some technicality.

Luke showed me the short letter you sent him and I am pleased that you are making friends. I suppose I have to accept that you really are making a new life for yourself over there. That thought gives me equal measures of pain and comfort.

Han brought his new assistants to visit. The girl, Rey, is a delight. She’s only nineteen but she has done so much, had so many adventures! She reminds me a little of myself at that age, only I’m sure she is smarter. The young man is called Finn, and Poe is quite smitten. He’d never say anything, of course, because the boy is only twenty three and Poe is an old man of thirty-six. You were too young for Poe way back when you were a raw sixteen year old and he was a worldly wise twenty-two, so I see him suffering from a distance. Of course this time the affection goes the other way because Finn is entirely oblivious and seems only to have eyes for Rey. Han rolls his eyes and Chewie roars with disgust when the subject arises. I think they have both long forgotten how it feels to be young and in love.

Perhaps you could get Mr Peavey to tell you his story and write something inspired by biographical detail. There’s a real market for ‘true life drama’ and he sounds interesting. Or what about your landladies? They sound like another interesting subject. I am sure the pulp market would eat up a tale of two military women finding friendship in difficult times. Or you could just sell books written by other people.

Have you solved the mystery of the redhead who likes to see the sun rise? Have you considered just talking to him? I have decided that he is a hermit who lives in a cave in the cliff. Luke says he’s probably a friar or a farmer, because who else would be up at the crack of dawn when warm beds exist. Booksellers, evidently, I pointed out. We have a bet going—the loser has to make dinner for the winner. The way I see it that means we both lose.

With all my love,  
Leia

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

Oh you poor boy. I did not show Leia the main body of your letter when she visited recently. Of course I pray for you. All the time. I always ask God that you find peace with who you are and weather the storms that life brings you as a result.

Do you think this man shares your interests, or are you imposing your own fervent wish for companionship on someone who is barely even an acquaintance? Tread carefully, Kylo, for the path you walk is slippery. Don’t let your hopes and dreams cloud your reality too much in case you end up a bitter, disappointed old man like me.

What about this Arkanis fellow? From his choice of reading material I would wager that he is an older ‘confirmed bachelor’ type. Tread carefully there too: older men are not always to be trusted. There is often a sense of entitlement. Literally in his lordship’s case. Ask your mother about her diplomatic encounter with Lord Tarkin in the cocktail bar of the Hotel Eriadu if you don’t believe me.

With love and prayers,  
Luke

—oOo—

 

Dear Leia,

I was right about Phasma and Unamo: they took a short trip to France and allowed me to remain at The Black Knight and tend bar (in the evenings after closing the bookstore) in lieu of rent on condition I did not give Peavey credit beyond his means and deferred to Mitaka’s expertise when it came time to change the barrels. They took a bus, a train, a ferry, another train and eventually arrived in Paris. From their tales, I would very much like to go sightseeing myself and send a postcard of Notre Dame to Luke, one of La Tour Eiffel to Han, and perhaps you would like the Arc de Triomphe. I think I will wait until I can afford the extravagance of air travel.

You will be proud to know that in their short absence The Black Knight did not fall down, burst into flames or otherwise suffer due to my negligence. Two people complained about the bar service but since the two people concerned were Mitaka and Thanisson after their third pints of black-and-tan I disregarded their complaints and closed up in accordance with British licensing laws and Phasma’s strict instructions.

Phasma and Unamo brought back a memento for me: a well-used, hard-cover copy of Lady Chatterly’s Lover, published in English in its entirety by a Swedish publishing house, picked up for a Franc from a Left Bank bookstall. How absurd to have such a work of literature have to reach its audience by such circuitous means! I have read it, and I doubt you would find it obscene at all. Han would find some of the scenes hilarious. I am sending it up to Armitage (Lord Arkanis) because I think it will amuse him. Is that too shocking? Will reading it give the old man a stroke? Should I send it to you instead?

I missed my dawn walks whilst looking after The Black Knight. My duties kept me awake late, therefore I slept late and did not see the sunrise or the beauty that often accompanies it. But I resumed my old habits yesterday and he seemed pleased to see me, even offering me an unprompted ‘good morning’. Next time I see him, I will invite him to my bookstore. Tourist season is weeks away, but I have arranged a water boiler and things to make tea so I can be a decent host should he accept.

With warm regards,  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Armitage,

I know how it feels to fall short of your parents’ hopes and dreams. I was to be a pilot but I am not suitable for a military life because I do not take orders well and I have a medical exemption (earned by a childhood injury, now healed) in any case.

I hope you will not be offended but I obtained this volume unexpectedly and thought you might find it interesting. The work is banned under outdated obscenity laws in your country as well as my own, but it seems the French and Swedish are more tolerant of the human condition. As you will see, the book has passed through several pairs of hands before it reached mine, and then yours.

If the work falls short of your high standards, I am sure I will be able to find it a new home.

Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

I knew that Phasma recently took a trip to Paris with Unamo, but I had no idea that they would return with such a treasure! I take it you have read the book before passing it on? What did you think? The scene with Constance finding Mellors’ heaving arse ridiculous was delicious. Sexual congress is so ludicrous by design that I wonder how the human species manages to propagate itself at all.

The British Empire really has raised such prudes that those with influence would consider such a work to be obscene, thereby completely missing the point of the entire novel. They are, I might say, aspiring to be all mind and no body, and therefore their arguments lack coherence. I wonder how it would have been treated had Mellors been the Lord and Connie the kitchen skivvy? After all, that is how I came into being. So it seems that I heaped shame upon my noble father for reminding him of his own sin long before I developed any sinful tendencies of my own.

I apologise. I do talk utter nonsense when the mood takes me, and Lawrence gave me much to be in a mood about. Perhaps you will send me a comedy next time. For now, please forward your invoice for I am in enough large debts to the upkeep of the Manor that it eases my conscience to pay off my lesser dues promptly.

Armitage

—oOo—

 

Dear Armitage,

A comedy! Surely not. I have sent you two Forster novels that are lighter in style and that you have probably read already. The first is ‘A Room With A View’ and, although not a comedy, it has many humorous moments. I ask whether you are a George Emerson, a Cecil Vyse, or perhaps you share character traits with the Reverend Mr. Beebe?

The second is by the same author, ‘Howards End’, and I ask a similar question. With which family do your sympathies lie? The intellectual Schlegels, the lowly Basts or the thoughtlessly privileged Wilcoxes?

Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Luke,

Is Leia not speaking to me because I recommended that she read a work banned for obscenity? I could mail it to you in plain covers, or page by page over the course of several months, so as not to trouble her reputation should the package be opened for inspection at the port. Or I could hollow out one of those enormous Bibles so beloved of village tub-thumpers and hide the novel, snug in a nest of holy words. I’m sure Snoke wouldn’t miss his at all.

I have met with my angel several times now and we are on tentative speaking terms. I fear that if I seem too forward he will take wing and join the soaring gulls that flock on the cliffs then fly up to meet the golden sun. Apollo was god of the Sun, wasn’t he? Also of music and foreigners. (I confess to you that I cheated here—I knew had a volume of Greek Myths in the store so I stopped writing and looked it up). I am a foreigner so my Apollo can be my god for now. I will worship the radiance of his blazing, orange hair.

This morning we spoke of books. I asked him if he enjoyed reading and he gave me the most strange look before he answered that he liked to read. I invited him to browse my humble bookstore when it was quiet, after closing if that would be easier on him, but he held back from answering and worried at his lip and squinted at the sun. He said no and didn’t elaborate with any reason, but told me that I was kind to offer. I think I hid my disappointment well enough and we parted with a handshake.

I have set Lord Arkanis a test. I hope he tells me he is a George Emerson and not a Cecil Vyse.

Yours in exasperation,  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

I asked for comedy and you made me laugh. Thank you.

I have indeed read both volumes before, but both deserve another reading. I feel no affinity for stuffy Cecil, and George is far too free with his feelings for my liking. George imposes a kiss on Lucy without regard for her wishes at all. Twice! ‘It all worked out in the end’ is not justification for forcing one’s affections onto another person. Do you agree?

As for your other question, although the prose is a delight to read, the Wilcoxes are too like my father’s contemporaries for comfort and make me shudder with their casual disregard of poor Leonard Bast. The Schlegels’ meddling in Leonard’s life annoys me intensely, and the whole sordid history of Wilcox’s infidelity made me squirm ~~because it rem~~ Everyone is one thing or the opposite. Hot or cold, rich or poor. Free or bound. Perhaps it is a good thing that I do not recognise myself among Forster’s characters. If it were up to me, the Basts of this country would be offered, at fourteen or fifteen, a secure standard of living in return for National Service extened beyond the legal minimum. Imagine the improvement in our impoverished and disenchanted youth if they were to have the guarantee of a bunk to themselves, three meals a day and the chance to learn a useful skill or trade in the service of their country!

I hope you don’t find my response too lacking in manners. I enjoy our literary exchanges and look forward to Dopheld appearing at my library door with a book, a note and a smile. In recompense for my grumpy response, I am sending you something of mine as a gift in the hope that you will forgive me.

Armitage 

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

I will not be goaded into an argument over your suggestions of how to smuggle a most impious book within the pages of the most pious. You should know me better—you despaired once that I had no reverence for dusty old tomes. As for Reverend Snoke’s lectern Bible, have at it! When we pick and choose what is Gospel and what is not based on how much we agree or disagree with the message it contains, and then worship the words of fallible men writing about infallible God more than we worship God Himself, then we are truly bound for Hell. In that matter at least, Father Yoda and I agree.

Perhaps your idol is a married man with youngsters who merely wants to get out of the house for an hour for some quiet contemplation. Perhaps he is the local schoolmaster who can’t risk a stain on his reputation in case he loses his job. Perhaps he is a policeman. Kylo, he is not your Apollo (although Helios would be a closer match if I were to nitpick). He might be your Menoetius or your Erebus. Go on, look them up. I’ll wait right here.

Perhaps Lord Arkanis is a Miss Bartlett type—all steely old spinster on the surface, secretly yearning for torrid romance underneath.

With love and extra prayers,  
Luke 

—oOo—

 

Dear Armitage,

British good manners dictate that I ought to make a show of refusing your gift and you should persuade me to accept. But I am a foreigner so if I am not always good mannered I will be forgiven with a shake of the head, a slight pursing of the lips and a sighed mutter of ‘Americans’. I accept with thanks. I like to walk up to the clifftop to watch the sun rise and it is always so cold that I can barely feel my fingers by the time I reach the headland. I am impressed that your gift of fur-lined leather gloves is exactly what I need, and they fit beautifully. Do you also have large hands?

Of course I have to give you something now. Someone once told me:  
  
_One should not stare directly at the sun,_  
_Such blinding beauty clouds the eyes,_  
_to every lesser sight._  
  
I think of those words often when I see Apollo arrive with the sun in tow. I have inscribed them in my very best handwriting on a card for you to use however you see fit—perhaps as a bookmark or a firelighter.

With thanks,  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

Please stop torturing your Uncle Luke, and if you send that book to me it had better be in plain covers, hidden in a case of dictionaries and addressed to Han. Postcards from Paris, however, are welcome. You should travel—see as much of the world as possible while you have the opportunity.

I found out a little more about young Rey and Finn. Rey is an orphan who brought herself up and seems to have done a fine job. Finn was conscripted into the navy but recently got a discharge on medical grounds and he has been to a few foreign places. He hated it. Not the places—he said Korea was beautiful—but the things he was ordered to do. I think you’d like him, once you got over the idea that Poe might love him more than he loves you. Of course I am kidding—Poe smiles when I tell him how well you are getting along.

Han still takes it hard that you left, and his guilt manifests as ill humor. He blames himself mostly, and that has made him distant. He blames me too a little, and Luke from time to time for not making you stay. Would you write to him? Just a short note letting him see that you are happy?

Has your angel accepted your invitation?

With all my love,  
Leia

—oOo—

 

Dear Han,

I want you to know that I am happy here in England and that you are to stop blaming Luke and Leia for my decision to leave. My bookstore is well liked by the locals as a place to browse new titles, use the secondhand book exchange (which is surprisingly popular) then sit with a cup of tea and read the first chapter or two in quiet.

Please tell Chewie I said hi.

Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

Your gift sits on the mantlepiece above the fireplace in my library where all I need to is raise my eyes to gaze at it. Your calligraphy is admirable and I appreciate the sentiment in your writing. I suppose it is also handy should the fire need rekindled. I joke, of course.

I believe that despite our exchange of gifts I have offended you with harsh criticism of a book you admired, since you have not sent another for many days. Perhaps I could make a recommendation for you instead? The enclosed novella has a most unsatisfactory ending, as so many stories on this theme written in this era do, but there is beauty in it if you look hard enough.

With affection,  
Armitage

—oOo—

 

Dear Luke,

Lord Arkanis sent me a copy of ‘Death in Venice’! Should I be concerned? Does he see himself as old Aschenbach? Is he telling me that he is a writer, or that he has an obscene liking for younger flesh? Does he think himself deluded or corrupt? Is he dying of some contagion and that is why he never leaves his Manor and won’t admit visitors? It is a terrible book and I hate it. And every suspicious character has red hair. What the Hell does Mann have against redheads?

I went to bed furious, barely slept and was still angry in the morning. I took an exhausting march up to the clifftop to work off some of my ire physically and I would have run if I had worn suitable clothing for it. Perhaps I will buy some physical training clothes. The locals think me eccentric anyway.

Talk me out of doing something stupid like storming the Manor and demanding to know what he meant by sending me that book.

Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

What are the chances you are assuming a hidden meaning where there is none? Is he really so cryptic as to be sending you a message other than ‘I read this book and I want you to read it too so we have something to talk about’? Don’t storm the castle walls with your sharpened pitchfork. People like us endure enough without turning on each other.

Why don’t you ask him?

With love and prayers,  
Luke

—oOo—

 

Dear Armitage,

Although I admire much of his writing, my hatred for the particular Thomas Mann you sent is so intense that I can’t do it justice on a notecard. While I recognise that it is “of its time”, it is my opinion that in the character of Aschenbach, Mann has given voice to the false and harmful notion that men who love men also find boys irresistible. Although Mann has Aschenbach die before he can touch Tadzio, the threat to the innocent is lodged in the reader’s mind. Is this a sentiment that you share?

I would like to discuss my reasons for despising this novella in more depth but that would require that we met in person, something I have been led to believe you would not welcome.

Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Leia,

I did as you asked and wrote to Han.

I think my friendship with Lord Arkanis may be at an end, and it upsets me more than I think it should. You know that I have fallen for the beauty of the flame-haired man on the clifftops, but I have fallen just as hard for the sharp, literary intellect of the old Lord of the Manor.

It’s strange, isn’t it? I have exchanged only a few hundred words with each of them and that is enough for me to consider them almost like lovers. Did you fall for Han so fast? If the Lord Arkanis turned out to be fifty, would that be a problem? What if he were sixty?

I went to a deserted part of the harbor and yelled at the howling wind, roared at the crashing waves, until I was hoarse. Then I returned to The Black Knight soaked with salt spray and Phasma scolded me for “catching my death” which got me angry all over again at Thomas Mann. Ask Luke.

I hope this despair blows away with the March wind.  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

May I still call you that and mean it? Or should I address you as Mr Ren again? I am sorry that our correspondence has given you a poor opinion of me. I thought we were becoming friends. Perhaps I have made a mistake.

Arkanis

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

I wish I could visit, hold you in my arms and console you for a while, although you would never allow it and anyway you are broader than will fit in my embrace unless British food disagrees with you. You are eating properly, aren’t you? I demand a photograph as proof.

Perhaps it is for the best that you break off this strange ~~affair~~ friendship with Arkanis. I remembered the name from somewhere and have done some digging, and by all accounts Lord Arkanis is a most unpleasant fellow. He was disgraced for his part in supporting appeasement in the late thirties, campaigned to limit the influx of refugees seeking safety and he was a vocal supporter of Tarkin and the British Empire Party. I am glad that he has no hold over you.

Han was delighted to receive your letter, however brief. Chewie said he read it with his happy frown on instead of his irritated frown.

With all my love,  
Leia

—oOo—

 

Dear Leia,

I have heard nothing more from Arkanis and although I have been for my usual morning walks, I have seen my angel only once. He seemed quiet, I mean quieter than usual for a man who barely speaks. I asked him if something was troubling him and he gave me a wobbly kind of smile and said it was probably nothing, a silly thing that would pass in time. We shook hands after a minute more and he complimented me on my gloves. I went quiet at that and he asked if something was bothering me too. I said they were a gift but I wondered if I should return them and that I thought I had made a mistake about trusting someone I barely know, then I asked what he knew of old Arkanis up at the Manor. He went so silent and still he might have turned to chalk for a full minute, then he turned and walked away.

After that encounter I returned to The Black Knight for breakfast. (Bacon, eggs and tea made by Unamo. I am well fed I promise). While we ate, I asked Phasma what she knew of old Lord Arkanis. She frowned at me then said there was no Old Lord and hadn’t been for several years. She said there is a young Lord, as different in character from his fascist father as was possible given his circumstances.

What a fool I looked, sitting there gaping like a fish with a forkful of fried egg halfway to my mouth.

Where would I be able to find out just who I have been writing to all these weeks?

Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Kylo,

You are right! I checked the archives (well, I got Kaydel to do it for me) and the Lord Arkanis I knew of was a man named Brendol who died several years ago from heart failure. He has an illegitimate son who inherited since there was no other heir, and there was a scandal at the time because some suspected the son gradually poisoned his father with tea made from digitalis, but the young man was acquitted due to lack of evidence. I wonder if all this time you have been writing to the son, assuming you were writing to the father?

There have been ‘developments’ here. You remember I wrote of Finn and Rey? Their relationship is a close one. They are fiercely protective of one another but they are not sweethearts. Amilyn visited and brought her protégées, Paige and Rose. Rey immediately offered to show them around and while Paige drifted into conversation with Chewie about the difficulty of finding reliable used engine parts, Rose and Rey spent the entire afternoon deep in the guts of the Falcon, getting to know each other better. Finn was not at all perturbed when they emerged, grease-smeared, smiling and holding hands. In fact his smile grew even sunnier than usual. Poe has no idea what to do with the news that Finn is a single man. I suggested that Finn ask Poe to give him flying lessons. Their first session is scheduled tomorrow if the weather stays calm.

Let me know how things develop with you.

With all my love,  
Leia

—oOo—

 

Dear Luke,

I want to ask you to pray for someone, since I can’t. I set off for my usual morning walk but I was distracted by Peavey, who appeared to have slept outside The Black Knight, under the shelter of the harbour wall all night. I helped him into the warmth and Phasma brought hot, sugared tea while Unamo helped him to take a warm bath. I provided some clothes for him to wear while his own dried in front of the lounge bar fire. Unamo fetched Doctor Kalonia, who pronounced him sick enough for a trip to the hospital two towns over, and telephoned for an ambulance. I waited with him until his ride came. He seemed unsure of who I was and tried to flirt with Phasma. It’s a wonder he lives.

The afternoon in the bookstore dragged a little since I had few customers and I was left to my own thoughts. Sunset is just late enough and the day was clear enough that I decided if I closed at five I could probably get up to the clifftop in time to watch the sun slip below the horizon over the rolling downs to the west of us. I jogged up the path and reached the pillbox before the sun grazed the dark land, admiring the amber-red fireball in the pink-clouded, pale blue sky, with my back to the cold concrete.

My angel was there. I smiled and said hello. I wondered if I ought to apologise but I couldn’t think what I had said to scare him away. He came and rested his back on the concrete beside me and we watched the sunset while gulls cried out their goodnights and flew off to roost. I laughed and he asked what was amusing. I said that I hadn’t thought this through: I usually climb up in dark and set off back down the path in daylight. But since I walked up in daylight I had not brought my flashlight and I might get lost in the dark. The sun was more than half hidden by this point, and he said that according to science, when the deepest red rays from the last fingernail-sliver of sun reach us, the light has been refracted through the atmosphere from below the horizon. In other words, we see the last beauty of something that has already gone.

I told him it would be a shame to lose hold of something so precious.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world to let my hand find his. He held on for a moment and I stole a glance at his face, eyes still lit with by the sky-glow, and I wondered how he would look in firelight. In that instant I saw us together years from now, sitting by a fire like the one in The Black Knight, sharing stories of our days or sitting in companionable silence. One blink and it was gone. He shook his hand free and reached into his coat, then handed me a small package and instructed me not to open it until I got home.

I am looking at it now. It is the copy of “The City and the Pillar” I gave to Lord Arkanis so many weeks ago. There are words in the margins here and there, in tiny, perfect letters, and there is a note inside.

Pray for poor old Peavey. He’s a believer so it should work on him.

Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dearest,

I miss our correspondence. There was something exciting about the anticipation of a note or a book appearing in D’s hand and the agony of waiting for him to leave before I could tear it open and see what you had written for me. I have missed the joy of seeing you from a distance, looking out at the sunrise, and feeling the first tentative tendrils of friendship grow between us.

I did not realise until very late that you had no inkling that the strange red-headed man who is always up on the cliffs and the bookworm who never leaves his house were the same person. I hope you have no grounds to accuse me of deliberately trying to mislead you.

I will leave this in the shelter of the pillbox’s narrow opening tonight, and I hope you will find it in the morning.

With affection.

—oOo—

 

My dear,

I want to see you. Will you come to my bookstore, late on Wednesday, when there are no customers? I will wait for you there, whatever your decision.

yours,  
Kylo

—oOo—

_The Last Lord Arkanis in his Natural Habitat_

—oOo—

 

Kylo,

Tell me next time you intend to be away overnight. We can’t afford to cook breakfast for someone who isn’t here to eat it. You’re getting the same plate of congealed bacon, sausage and eggs for dinner. If you apologise nicely enough, I may even allow you to reheat it.

Unamo

—oOo—

 

Dear Luke,

I am not sure how much to write in case you are damned by association. But somehow it is easier to write you my confession than to write to my mother. Forgive me father for I have blah blah blah.

Has Leia mentioned my confusion and its resolution? I bet she has. I invited my angel to visit my bookstore after closing on Wednesday, which is noon according to some archaic custom called local bye-law. I cleaned until everything gleamed and not a spare scrap of paper lay around, then I used the small apartment in the attic to wash and change my soiled clothing. I had no idea of whether or not my invitation would be accepted, but I laid out the a table in the reading nook (it’s just a glorified diner style booth with seats like pews around a square wooden table) with a tablecloth, candlesticks, mismatched china and bone-handled cutlery I bought from the bric-a-brac store in the village. I borrowed wine glasses from the bar, and I purchased a bottle of French wine from Phasma at a grossly inflated price. I used what coupons remained in my ration book to buy my allowance of cheese and I made stuffed potatoes with that and a few shoots of parsley I was coaxing into life on the windowsill. There was nothing for dessert since I traded my sugar and butter coupons as part payment for the wine.

My angel arrived after sunset. I heard the bell over the door tinkle and I leapt to the front of the store ready to turn away an unwelcome customer, so sure I was that he would not come now, and there he stood in his coat and hat, near the door as if afraid to stray too far from his escape route. I smiled and invited him further into my domain, then reached behind him to lock the door and pull the blind. He did not move, and my arm brushed his shoulder. He seemed to shiver at the accidental touch and I asked if he was cold, then led him over to the nook where I had placed the bottled gas fire for warmth. I took his hat and his coat and invited him to sit. We drank a glass of wine each and he pointed at the candles, which I had completely forgotten to light.

I got up to fetch dinner from the oven in my little galley kitchen upstairs and I lit the candles. We sat opposite each other, blowing the heat from the cheesy potatoes and drinking cheap wine as if we were dining on fancy food at the Ritz. He explained in a rather halting manner why he had such a dislike of the Forster book, and he listened while I ranted about the Mann. After a while, when we had stuffed ourselves with the best stodge Britain has to offer and drunk the best wine France was willing to forfeit, we fell into silent contemplation. Under the table, one of his feet rested between mine and I was afraid to move in case he withdrew that slight contact. I said that I was sorry I could not provide dessert, and he smiled and said he was not a sweet person. I laughed more from nerves than from amusement at his joke.

Then we discussed the Gore Vidal. Have you read it? I confessed that after reading it I had written a new ending of my own (a thousand words or so that gushed out) because although I understood why the author crushed the protagonist’s dreams, I would have preferred something less shocking after being lulled by the normalcy of his relationships. He asked to read it and we discussed possible alternative endings for a while. He was pleased that I had read the book and absorbed some of his marginal notes although I disagreed with some of them and I scolded him gently for writing on the pages. He took it in the spirit in which it was intended and he threatened to choose a random book from the nearby shelves and write notes in it, too. He got up as if to take a book and I got up to stop him, which is how I ended up sandwiched between him and the bookshelves, with his wrist in my left hand held above our heads, my right arm around his back and my lips on his.

Or was it his lips on mine. It’s not clear. Tell me, Brother Luke, what should my penance be for falling in love with someone our law says I am not allowed to have? Are all unrepentant sinners like me damned by our thoughts or by our actions? In either case, it is too late.

Kylo

—oOo—

 

My love,

Is it too soon to call you that? This rare feeling has been swelling inside me since I first connected the wild-haired mountain of a man I glimpsed at dawn on the clifftop with the bookish little (or so I supposed—how happy I am to be proved wrong) American who sent me a novel and wrote so fluently. I almost came to your grand opening gala but I could not face the stares and unasked questions of people who have already made up their own reasons for my quiet lifestyle. I walked down by the harbour, looked at your pretty shopfront and turned away, giddy at the sight of villagers milling around you. I was glad though, reasoning that if your business thrived you would stay.

Come to the Manor. See how the grand old families of the Empire cling to existence in opulent decay. I would be rid of it all in a heartbeat and make a name for myself as plain old Mr Hux rather than Lord Arkanis. I suppose I could go up to London and vote myself obsolete in the House but I can’t afford the luxury of travel and accommodation.

Come when you will. Today if you please. The door will be unlocked.

Armitage

—oOo—

 

Dear Leia,

You were correct—the person I have been writing to is the younger man, and he is the same person as my dawn angel. I feel like we are caught up in a twister, but there are hard decisions to be made when the dust settles.

First, if we wish to have any kind of life together it can’t be here. I can no more move up to the Manor than he can come live with me at The Black Knight or above my bookshop. Phasma is sympathetic and when The Black Knight is quiet she will allow us to slip away unobserved, but some of the villagers watch us with a look in their eyes that I do not like, and Reverend Snoke spat poison from the pulpit on Sunday.

Second, we can’t move anywhere yet. Arkanis Manor and all its land is to be advertised for sale as soon as possible. Hux would gladly give it away to the National Trust as some other owners of grand mansions have done, but Arkanis Manor is not grand enough, has bomb-damage, and has little left in the way of historically interesting furniture or art. There is a house building company interested in obtaining the land so there is the option to allow the Manor to be demolished to make way for modern housing for families and perhaps a school. Poor Mitaka cried into his beer over that possibility. His mother was their cook once. Perhaps that is why he treats Hux like a cousin. Ha! Perhaps they are cousins. I suppose it would be rude to ask.

Third, we must decide where to live. That is the sole cause of unhappiness between us at the moment. He has the idea that America might be less hostile but I am not sure if bringing him to my old home is a good idea.

With warm regards,  
Kylo

—oOo—

 

Dear Luke,

I have good news and bad. I regret that Peavey will not be leaving hospital anytime soon, and when he is fit to be released it will be into a nursing home for the infirm since he has no close family to care for him.

My good news is that my angel has agreed in principle to abandon the manor and travel with me. If we are frugal, we have enough money for a month or two touring some of Europe’s grand cities. We will travel by train and be guided by literature: London, Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome. If I combust in a fireball immediately upon setting foot on Vatican soil, I bequeath to you my bookshop. Even if I survive the act of sacrilege, you can have it.

Do you think we would be welcomed, if I brought him home?

Kylo

—oOo—

 

BRING H HOME STOP HAVE PLAN STOP LEIA

—oOo—

 

Dear Phasma,

Thank you so very much for everything you have done for me since my father brought you over from your homeland. You have been a loyal sister to me since I first shared my hiding place from his temper. Do you remember? He was shouting and you ran past the library. I caught your arm and pulled you inside. I thought you were going to beat me for daring to touch you until I showed you the priest-hole and we hid in that dark, silent cubby until he’d given up. I still have nightmares about those days, but Kylo helps. His presence is as solid and dependable as yours.

Our travel arrangements felt like a honeymoon. We chose to sail and, as a shared berth is cheaper than two singles, the depth of our pockets dictated our class of carriage. I was not recognised at Plymouth (why would I be? It has been years since I was hounded by newsmen looking for scandal) or on the ship, so for four, blissful days we had each other for company and a few novels to read and discuss until late at night in the captain’s bar. There was dancing, of course. Unamo would have loved the opportunity to show off. Married couples, young and old, and a few pairs of game old spinsters danced cheek to cheek under the spinning ballroom lights to the sound of some crooner and his band. Dancing was not for the likes of us, of course. Not in public, anyway, although I am not sure how the law applies when we are beyond national borders. We were careful, I promise. But up on deck after the bars were all closed, the stewards were slopping out and the crew were praying for the relief of a shift change, we swayed to some imagined waltz as the sun rose over the ocean behind us.

I hope you are not offended that I gave the Manor over to Dopheld and not to you. I have never formally acknowledged him as my half-brother, but our mother made sure in little ways that we grew up knowing of one another. I used to envy him his life of freedom and his dark hair, as he envied me my life of imagined opulence. I hope he can sell the land and purchase one of the little new houses with their indoor amenities, fitted kitchens and picture windows. Maybe he can rent a room to Thanisson and get the boy out of that dreadful hovel he shares with his family.

When we arrived in New York, the immigration queues were long but Kylo waited with me in line, buzzing with energy. My passport was stamped eventually without comment and I was welcomed by a monstrous, hirsute man even larger than Kylo. The hairy hugger was introduced as “Uncle Chewie” and he drove us to the house where we now reside. It belongs to Kylo’s Aunt Amilyn, who lives in Washington DC with his mother most of the year.

Later tonight I am to meet Kylo’s Uncle Luke, or “Brother Skywalker of the Order of the Light of the World”. Kylo’s father is on a ‘business trip’ (probably awaiting bail, according to Kylo) and Chewie has his own family to occupy his time. So it is just Kylo and myself here, with no prying eyes and nobody with a single care in the world about the disgraced son of a dead fascist. We still have to be careful, as Leia reminded Kylo by telephone, thus putting him into a terrible mood for the next hour ~~until I~~

I have given no thought as to how I will earn my keep. I wonder if Kylo would consider helping me to open a bookshop?

Hux

—oOo—


End file.
